


David and Jimmy's Magical Adventure

by NotRaymondChandler



Category: David Bowie (Musician), Jimmy Page - Fandom, Led Zeppelin
Genre: Aladdin Sane - Freeform, All Magic Comes With a Price, Blood Magic, Cocaine, Comedy, Crack and Angst, Dark Magic, David Bowie Tribute, Demons, Doesn't matter, Elemental Magic, Elves, Enemies, Enemies to Lovers? Who Knows?, Epic Witchy Nerd Battles, Explicit Language, Glam Rock, Gross, Hobbits, How many names are there for Satan?, Humor, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Iggy Pop - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Jimmy Page - Freeform, Jimmy Page talks to hobbits and elves, Kashmir, Laughing Gnomes, Led Zeppelin References, Lou Reed - Freeform, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, Magic, Magical Enemies, Magical Rivals, Magical wars, Marc Bolan - Freeform, Orcs, Paranoia, Place your bets for who is gonna win, Recreational Drug Use, References to David Bowie, References to Drugs, References to Lord of the Rings, References to the Hobbit, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, Robert Plant - Freeform, Romantic Angst, Satan - Freeform, Stairway to Heaven, Swimming pool demons, That punk AF bastard is gonna be in this, The only shit that is real is magic, This terrifying magical war, Tragedy/Comedy, crackfiction so pure you could sell it on the streets, demons and laughing gnomes, like a rollerskating 1970s disco drug dealer, literal shit happens, mick ronson - Freeform, the Devil - Freeform, the thin white duke - Freeform, you always hate the one you love, ziggy stardust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRaymondChandler/pseuds/NotRaymondChandler
Summary: What happens when two coked out rock star wizards in the 1970s collide and decide to have a magical war?I don't know, but we're going to find out!
Relationships: David Bowie & Jimmy Page
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

David had been pacing for at least twenty-five minutes. No, twenty-six minutes and 37 seconds to be precise. Pacing in a furious circle with panicked deliberation and rapidly increasing speed. A magical circle. Yes, yes, it was magic, it would protect him. Walking in a magical circle would  _ definitely _ protect him from his magical nemesis.   
  
It sent an almost pleasurable shiver up his spine when he thought of his nemesis, even though he was so terrified of his magical powers that David started collecting jars of urine and storing them in the fridge like a glam rock Howard Hughes to cope with the never ending torrent of distress and paranoia that the other man unleashed in him.   
  
Crikey, the fridge! It was now so full of urine that he had to start drinking nothing but milk after confusing urine with apple juice one too many times. It was becoming an issue. But as long as he had his milk, his peppers, his magical circle, his cocaine and his jars of urine, he would be totally okay. No matter how magical or terrifying or sexy Jimmy Page was, he couldn’t beat David Bowie, the only man with the magical determination, genius and idiocy required to coke his way from Kether to Malkuth over a sleepless weekend and survive.    
  
What was Jimmy Page anyway? An annoying little Tolkien obsessed bitch, that’s what he was. At least David believed in things that were  _ real, _ like magic, not totally  _ fake,  _ like elves. What was Jimmy going to do? Shake a big fake wooden staff at him like an angry old man yelling at clouds and scream, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS?” Boo hoo. Big deal.    
  
David paced even faster, starting to feel even more paranoid and anxious. What if Jimmy really  _ could _ do something? Oh fuck, what if elves really fucking  _ were  _ real?   
  
Oh shite.   
  
Not elves. No fucking way was he dealing with fucking elves. No fucking way.   
  
David stopped pacing and took a deep breath. Things were getting way too intense, even for him, he needed to calm down.   
  
Fucking.  _ Elves.  _ _  
_ _  
_ So he grabbed a box of crayons, sat on the floor, did another line of coke, and then, after pausing for a moment to strike a dramatic pose, he began scribbling maniacally on the hardwood floor with a black crayon, sketching out his plan for an all out magical war against that evil but sexy wizard Jimmy Page.    
  
Nothing was going to stop him, not even that sexy little rat faced bastard with his soft flowing perm, his delicate features and darkly hooded eyes that made him look like he'd been up all night snorting disturbing amounts of cocaine and absolutely sailing through the Valhalla of his damned mind, becoming an even more powerful wizard for his mind journeys.   
  
The dick.   
  
How fucking dare he?   
  
Obviously the answer was to do even more cocaine than Jimmy, even  _ better  _ cocaine than Jimmy, __ and never sleep again so he could trip balls to the extreme and learn all the magical secrets of the universe before Jimmy could, so he could take him out once and for all. It was the only way to defeat a wizard like Jimmy Page: you had to out-coke and out-magic him.    
  
He would show that little nerd. He would beat him at his own game and give him the magical spanking of a lifetime.    
  
Elves. Honestly. What a stupid git. David couldn't wait to spank him -  _ magically!  _ Heh heh...just...magically.   
  
Yeah.   
  
David sighed. How had things gotten to this point? Was it all just a side effect of the cocaine? No. No. It was hate. Hate and nothing more.   
  
Unless...maybe...it was...love?   
  
No.    
  
He buried the thought, no way was he in love with the wizard he feared the most. That was absurd, absolutely absurd and he wouldn't hear a word of it. Not even from himself.    
  
"SHUT UP, SELF! I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH JIMMY!" David shouted angrily at himself alone in the small room and his voice echoed loudly back at him in the barren wasteland devoid of furniture and knickknacks, smacking him in the face with an almost magical force. That should give his self the message. Fuck, his self could be so dumb. So dumb and confused. And a liar, a huge liar, perhaps a pathological liar. Like the jars of urine stacked in the fridge, it was an issue. His self was definitely a pathological liar - it was lying to him about fucking  _ Jimmy,  _ that was obvious, there was no way in  _ any _ of the many realms and dimensions and galaxies of reality that David could ever love  _ that  _ elf obsessed little dweeb, no matter how beautiful he was.   
  
"I am  _ not _ in love with  _ fucking  _ Jimmy Page. I do  _ not  _ want him to press his space face close to mine. He can go find his bloody elves in bloody Mordor and get fucked for all I care." David grumbled viciously as he scribbled so hard on the floor that the crayon tip snapped and ricocheted off his face, pinging against the wall. He barely noticed and just kept scribbling like a mad man wizard on a mission with an angry smile on his face.   
  
Sweet Beelzebub, one man should  _ not _ be that begrudgingly gorgeous, talented and magically powerful at the same time, it just wasn't fair on everyone else. Ugh, he wished Jimmy would get devoured by Orcs.   
  
David let out an almost animalistic growl of frustration.   
  
"Your eyes hide mean secrets, Jimmy," he ranted nonsensically, "I can see them written all over your big dumb beautiful face."    
  
Honestly.   
  
Jimmy was as dumb as his big dumb beautiful face. He didn't just believe in elves, he believed in dwarves and hobbits too. The only shit that was real was magic, demons and laughing gnomes. But Jimmy was way too dumb to realize that. The beautiful, beautiful, totally naive bastard. How was it that one could have both the innocent, open heart of a child and the cruel, cold, mean spirited heart of a magical Ebenezer Scrooge at the same time?    
  
Jimmy Page was like a puzzle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a question mark wrapped in an unbreakable code wrapped in a Rubik's Cube wrapped in a Labyrinth, and David wanted almost nothing more on earth than to break him in half and plumb the deepest depths of the mystery that was Jimmy Page, sexy bastard man wizard and human sex machine, and discover all of his darkest secrets.    
  
The dirty fucker.    
  
David bet, no, he  _ knew  _ that Jimmy was just  _ full  _ of dark secrets. And the worst bloody part was that the condescending bellend wouldn't bloody well  _ share  _ them. Who did he think he was, Aleister bloody Crowley? Who bloody well went and made  _ him _ keeper of all the evil magical secrets of the universe? No one, that was who. If  _ anyone _ should have all of that magical knowledge and power, it should be  _ him,  _ David Bowie, not some  _ hack  _ magician playing parlor tricks who believed in fucking  _ elves  _ like _ Jimmy Page. _ _  
_ _  
_ David snorted another heroic line of medical grade cocaine and it hit like an explosion of stars, rainbows, aliens and esoteric symbols going off in his brain and absolutely blasted his head wide open, giving him the most brilliant idea that had ever crossed his coke addled mind.   
  
Huzzah! He had the answer! He knew  _ exactly _ what he had to do to finally defeat that dirty little hobbit fucker once and for all!   
  
"FUCK YOU, JIMMY!" David yelled, shaking his fist dramatically. Oh, he was going to fuck Jimmy all right, he was going to fuck him so hard he wouldn't be able to  _ see  _ straight.   
  
Magically fuck him, of course.  _ Just. Magically. _ _  
_ _  
_ Satisfied with his plan, David finally got up from the floor to admire his frantic scribbling, but much to his surprise instead of the tree of life he'd fully intended on drawing alongside his crayoned floor notes, he had somehow drawn an enormous dick.   
  
"Fuck." David groaned.    
  
That was it, he was  _ killing  _ Jimmy Page.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is kinda shitty.

There had been many cha-cha-cha-cha-changes over the following days. David had grossly increased his cocaine consumption for one thing, and for another, he had also grossly increased his milk consumption. He was convinced that it was the only way he could stay awake long enough to discover all the magical secrets of the universe so he could finally utterly destroy his Hobbit obsessed nemesis, Jimmy Page.

He was sorely mistaken.

Now, a rapid increase in the consumption of cocaine is terrible for anyone, that's a fucking given, but when you combine it with a similarly rapid increase in the consumption of  _ milk? _Well, then you're in for some _ real _ trouble: catastrophic milk shites like you wouldn't believe. But David tried to think of it as a form of cleansing ritual; he was merely purging his body of whatever horrific fucking pathological liar of a demon had taken over his soul and made him think that he had anything other than hateful, bitter feelings toward Jimmy Page, that was all. 

And  _ yes, _ in case you were wondering, it  _ was _ alarmingly painful. When all you eat is peppers and you combine them with nothing but an ocean of milk, a desert full of cocaine and a total  _ tsunami _ of alcohol, it's almost  _ intolerably _ agonizing to the human body; rare is the person who can actually survive it - mostly because David Bowie was the only one who had ever dared/been dumb enough to attempt it. I mean, why the fuck would  _ anyone _ subject themselves to that? It was fucking bonkers, he was basically an acid and diarrhea making machine. 

Did the milk help ease the pain from the peppers, cocaine and booze? Yes, to a certain degree, but the constant putrid liquid squirts were of the fucking devil, and not in a good way, no matter how hard David tried to convince himself otherwise as he sat clutching the bowl in terrifying pain, watching as his entire fantastical life flashed before his eyes. 

But it was while he was sitting in the loo one day that he had a stunning magical revelation. It was so incredible he thought he heard a demonic choir of rebel angels cast down from heaven singing his praises in their ancient magical tongue, but it was actually just a fart that squeaked through unexpectedly and startled him. 

"Cocaine plus peppers divided by milk subtract fifty percent milk, times the remainder by the hidden mystical star system of Osiris, plus six thousand units of alcohol, carry the star sign of Capricorn, divide by cocaine, cocaine, cocaine, stand under the light of the full moon when Mars is in the sixth house of Ziggy Stardust, then shriek like a banshee into the mouth of the first infant you see on your journey. Swing back around, make an abrupt left, add the ancient texts of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, sprinkle a dash of the Egyptian Book of the Dead, subtract absolutely  _ none _ of the cocaine. Add seven cups of Thelema and blend in a blender until smooth. Add a toilet full of liquid pepper, alcohol, cocaine and milk shite, and then wham bam thank you ma'am! You have a curse fit for Jimmy Page, Tolkien obsessed dirtbag, shit magician and elf fucker." David said in a rush of cocaine induced mania, his teeth chattering from the side effects of the intense amount of the drug in his system and the outrageous blast of shite that exploded from him at that very moment.

Fuck, it was going to be a bumpy night. 

Some time later David stumbled out of the loo and into his screaming room, I mean, the room where he liked to do his magic. Yes, it was mostly empty, to the point of being almost more barren and monastic than a prison cell, but he liked it that way. He liked to hear his magical cocaine shrieks echoing off the walls, and no furniture meant more space for drawing sigils all over the floor, doing dark blood sacrifices, burning things and masturbating, I mean, performing sex and/or chaos magick rituals. 

Did the room smell like burnt chicken hearts, blood, sweat and incense? Yes, it absolutely did. But he loved it nonetheless. It felt so much safer than the evil indoor swimming pool where the demons lived. 

Fuck those demons. 

David almost had to run straight back into the loo at the mere thought of them. The creepy bastards gave him the Hershey squirts like you wouldn't believe and could never possibly conceive of, and his strict diet of alcohol, peppers, milk and cocaine had already done a good enough job of that all on its own, thank you very much, he didn't need any help in that department from God damned swimming pool demons.

Where was fucking Lou and his heroin connection when you needed him? Surely the only way to stop this massive flood of shite that was reaching near biblical proportions was to shoot up some good old fashioned constipation inducing heroin. He wanted to ride that bastard horse to no shit city immediately. 

It was all Jimmy's fault. It was his fault that he was such a terrifyingly sexy wizard and hobbit fucking nemesis that David had no choice but to obsessively hoard urine until the only non-alcoholic beverage he could safely drink was milk. Which meant it was  _ also _ his fault that David was currently sitting back down on the top of Shite Mountain and crying over his wicked shite stained fate. It was all Jimmy's fault, because clearly this series of unfortunate events was the result of the other wizard fucking cursing him into a shite coma, because that was totally something that evil fucking dick would do. 

"I fucking  _ hate _ you, Jimmy," David wept as his colon was brutally and forcefully cleansed, "I hate you more than I hate the fucking reptilian queen of England. I hate you more than I hate J.R.R. Tolkien for making you so dumb that you believe in fucking elves. I hate you more than I hate these violent, burning pepper and cocaine shites. I hope your hobbit hallucinations keep you warm at night, you absolute  _ poodle, _ because Lucifer knows  _ I _ never will." 

After another twenty minutes of his arsehole speaking to the toilet in tongues whilst simultaneously vomiting unearthly, demonic offerings into it, David was finally done. This time when he left the loo he didn't stumble down the hall, no, he  _ crawled, _ dragging his almost lifeless body along the burnt orange and avocado green shag carpet that fucking  _ Angie _ had insisted on; dragging himself all the way back, back, back, through the mists of time to his magical screaming room, where he finally collapsed in a broken heap on the floor, his body sprawled out over the giant crayoned dick that he somehow hadn't been able to remove, no matter what he did or how hard he tried.

It, like the violent diarrhea, was a curse from Jimmy Page, asshole wizard. It was the only answer. Jimmy was the cause of all the ills in his life, so he was definitely responsible for all of  _ that  _ shite too. 

David thought of the dark curse he had conjured up for his nemesis in a diarrhea and cocaine induced revelatory haze and snickered. His demonic  **_Eat Shit and Die, Jimmy_ ** curse was going to finally put that little nerd in his rightful place - in the fucking ground, where he belonged. 

_ No one _ made David Bowie shit himself.  _ No one.  _ That filthy little elf shagging rat was going to fucking pay for this, David and the demons and laughing gnomes would make fucking  _ sure _ of it. There was no  _ way _ Jimmy Page was walking out of this magical war alive. 

And with that thought, David gambled on a fart and lost, instantly regretting it. 

"Fuck I hate you, Jimmy." He sobbed as he made his way wearily back to the loo, dragging himself and his shite filled pants across Angie's hideous carpet. At least it would improve it, if nothing else, there was always that. 

And cocaine. Lots and lots of cocaine.


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, in the Scottish Highlands, Jimmy Page was having a perfectly lovely weekend entertaining an absolute gaggle of female guests at Boleskine House, the dilapidated old manor house that had once been home to Aleister Crowley, but now belonged to him. He loved the scary, rotting old manor, it was forever proof that he was the greatest wizard of his age, because only the bestest wizard with the most talent and magical powers could have bought the house of the beast. It definitely proved that he was better than that little poof, David Bowie.  
  
 _Ugh, David Bowie._ Jimmy stopped playing Stairway to Heaven mid-strum. How he loathed that mysterious and sexually confusing man. He was always making fun of Jimmy just because he was the biggest Tolkien fanboy who ever existed and loved Lord of The Rings more than he loved life itself. So what if Jimmy believed in elves and hobbits? They were real! He had seen them manifest before him with his own two eyes. Sure, he had been on dangerous amounts of acid or other drugs at the time, but that didn't make the experience _or_ the elves and hobbits any less real. They were just as real as David's stupid demons, and definitely more real than laughing bloody gnomes.  
  
Everyone knew gnomes were physically incapable of laughter. It was their curse. David Bowie was a fake wizard and a liar.  
  
So why did Jimmy find himself so inextricably drawn to him? Why did he haunt his every waking moment? Why did he always appear without fail in his dreams - often in the nude?  
  
"I DON'T WANT TO FUCK DAVID BOWIE!" Jimmy yelled with frustration.  
  
Suddenly he realized that all the beautiful witchy hippie women were still there, filling the room, staring at him and waiting for him to start playing again. They were surprisingly unruffled by his shouting, thank goodness they were all stoned out of their trees. But still, he would need to distract them before the pot cloud lifted enough for his words to sink in. With a small smirk he said, "Ladies, would you care to hear a song I've been working on for the next album?" Classic misdirection.  
  
"Oh yeah, Jimmy, groovy! Far out!" The women said. Jimmy decided to try to forget about David Bowie and focus on how beautiful the women were instead, all spread out over fur rugs and lounging draped over antique chairs and settees in his crumbling but lavishly furnished home in their long diaphanous flowing hippie dresses. He would be insane to think of David bloody Bowie at a time like this when he had a manor house full of women at his command, ready to cater to his every selfish whim and sexual fantasy.  
  
"This is a little tune called Kashmir." He said, snapping his fingers. One of the women rose and took his Gibson Les Paul electric guitar from him, replacing it quickly with a brand new black Danelectro. With a nod from Jimmy, she plugged it into the amp and he started playing the opening riff to Kashmir, the funeral dirge he had written as a warning to one David Bowie. Of course, Robert had obscured his warning behind a wall of flowery mysticism and the lyrics contained very little of his threat to the gender bending magician, but still, he hoped that when David finally heard it he would feel the dark, magical vibrations and shit himself with fear.  
  
Fucking Robert, he always had to go and wank all over the lyrics and ruin his songs.  
  
As if thinking about him had summoned the man, Robert Plant suddenly emerged from behind a curtain of beads, having awoken from his heroin induced slumber at the sound of the music, and began singing, his blond curls in his eyes, looking sexily disheveled. Fuck, he was such a poncy little scene stealing bellend. But Jimmy put up with his bullshit because no matter how much he moaned and groaned on stage, everyone knew who the real fucking star of Led Zeppelin was, and it sure as hell wasn't that obnoxiously caterwauling fuck with his pothead nonsense nerd lyrics and attention seeking onstage orgasms, Robert Plant.  
  
Still, the combination of his singing and Jimmy's guitar playing had the magical effect of peeling the panties off of any woman who heard it, so who was he to complain if Robert occasionally stole a bit of his thunder with his infernal screeching?  
  
Yes, Jimmy could handle Robert, he knew exactly how to manipulate and manage the man, how to pull his strings and make him dance like a marionette, but David Bowie on the other hand…  
  
He could still remember the first time they met. He had been a session musician at the time and had been booked to play guitar on two tracks for David's old band, the Manish Boys. Ha! The name made Jimmy laugh to this day, almost a decade later, for even then, in 1965, David was anything but manish, a boy, maybe, but there had been something feminine about him even then. Something that had both repelled and attracted Jimmy from the first moment he laid eyes on the other man.  
  
And somehow he had managed to haunt Jimmy ever since, always seeming to magically materialize in his life at the worst possible moments just to ruin everything, laughing in his face and telling him that elves aren't real and Tolkien was a fraud. Jimmy was sick of it. He had to beat David Bowie once and for all and prove that he was the superior wizard, it was the only way to end this eternal magical feud. Fuck David Bowie, Jimmy knew that if he did enough drugs he could bring the elves and hobbits out of hiding and get them to fight on his side against that sexually frustrating and confusing bastard. He would show that strung out cokehead who was the greatest wizard of all time and had the biggest dick, too, thank you very much.  
  
Jimmy was wailing on his guitar while Robert wailed with his screeching voice, when Jimmy's butler, Igor, fought his way into the room through the beaded curtain holding a parcel wrapped in brown paper packaging and tied up with string. Jimmy's eyes lit up and he immediately stopped playing, leaving Robert to moan and wail to nothing but screeching feedback. Somehow Robert's screeching was still worse.  
  
Jimmy loved it when the post arrived, there was almost nothing that delighted him more than wanking over his fan mail and it looked like he'd been sent something extra special this time. The lovely fan had even known about one of his other favourite things - brown paper packages tied up with string - she must be truly devoted to him to have picked up on that little known fact.  
  
Suddenly all thoughts of David Bowie, Robert and the women in the room vanished from Jimmy's mind and he had eyes for no one and nothing but the parcel in Igor's hands. He couldn't wait to see what this woman, who obviously knew him better than anyone else and had wanted so badly to impress and please him, had sent him. He was struck with the revelation that the woman who sent this package was surely his soul mate. The person he was destined to spend a magical eternity with. No one else had ever truly seen him the way this parcel sender had.  
  
His heart hammering excitedly in his chest, he snapped his fingers and Igor scurried over and handed him the package before scurrying out of the way again. He was deathly afraid of Jimmy, as he fucking should be.  
  
With trembling hands and bated breath Jimmy sat on the floor in the lotus position and carefully untied the string on his package, setting it aside to save just in case it came in useful later. You never knew when you'd need a nice bit of string. He proceeded to unwrap the brown paper packaging, which he smoothed out neatly with his hands before setting it aside next to the string. Paper always came in useful, and less money spent on paper meant more money to spend on drugs and buying all the Crowley memorabilia he could get his grubby hands on to upstage David Bowie.  
  
By now a hushed silence had fallen over the room, Robert had even stopped his perverse version of singing to sit spellbound with the women as they all watched Jimmy open his package. Once again he was the center of attention, just as he should be.  
  
Glorying in the moment, he pulled a knife out of the pocket of his tight bell bottom jeans, slit open the tape on the box with a flourish, opened it and reached inside with his eyes closed, wanting to be surprised by whatever the magnificent gift his future wife had sent him was.  
  
His hand closed around what felt like some sort of large glass jar, perhaps a mason jar? Whatever the contents were, he could feel the warmth right through the thick glass. He pulled it out and opened his eyes.  
  
Everyone in the room was staring at him and the jar, which was full of some kind of thick, chunky, foul looking brown and green shit. Jimmy had no idea what it was, but there was a little gift tag on the lid that said "Eat Me," so, sensing that his soul mate and the love of his life had cooked up some sort of foreign stew for him or perhaps a new kind of drug, he pulled his golden coke spoon out of his shirt pocket, opened the jar, fought through the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him as the smell of his beloved's offering hit him, scooped up a mouthful and swallowed it in an act of love for his future mate.  
  
Jimmy gagged.  
  
It was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted in his whole fucking life. If he didn't know better, he'd think it actually _was_ shit. And human shit at that. He tried to chew it to see if that would help. Nope. Nope. Nope. That didn't help at all. He started gagging like a sick cat and then vomited all over the expensive Persian carpet.  
  
That was _definitely_ shit.  
  
It was when he was heaving and retching with tears streaming down his cheeks for the sixth time that he finally noticed the gold envelope peeking out of the parcel. Wiping the bile and vomit chunks from his mouth with the back of his shaking hand, he grabbed the envelope and tore it open hastily, pulled out the card and read it, desperate for answers.  
  
 _'Eat shit and die, Jimmy! Enjoy the curse, you hobbit fucking elf wanker, and enjoy the taste of my shit, too. With nothing but my unyielding and undying hatred as I continue to curse your infernal soul to the darkest pits of hell,_ _  
__xoxo_ _  
__David Bowie'_ _  
__  
_Jimmy screamed so loud that he shattered one of the windows in the crumbling old manor. It was fucking _on._ If David Bowie wanted a magical fight to the death, he would have it. _No one_ made Jimmy Page eat shit. _No one._  
  
Suddenly another wave of nausea hit him and he projectile vomited all over one of the witchy hippie women, soaking her from head to foot in sick and sending _all_ the women _and_ Robert shrieking from the room in a panic, trying to avoid being the next to get bathed in chunks of Jimmy Page vomit.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Once again, David Bowie had ruined everything. But this time, this time he was going to pay for it. Oh, would he ever fucking pay for it. That little demon obsessed nerd would wish he had never heard of Jimmy Page once he was through with him.  
  
But how? How could he beat him? It was clear that David Bowie was more magically powerful than he was, whether Jimmy wanted to admit it or not, how else could he have cursed Jimmy in this horrible way and tricked him into eating shit? Only an extremely powerful magician could pull off such an astounding and horrific feat of magic. There was no way Jimmy could fight him alone, even with all the Crowley memorabilia in the world, he still wasn't powerful enough to beat his magical nemesis.  
  
As Jimmy crouched on his hands and knees on the floor, broken and despairing, vomiting and alone, he suddenly felt a small but firm hand on his shoulder. Looking up he was pleased and relieved to see his friend, Samwise Gamgee, the hobbit. "It's okay, mister Jimmy, don't worry," Sam said in his soft, calming hobbit voice, "we'll help you defeat the evil wizard, after all, what are friends for?"  
  
Jimmy let out a choked sob of relief and flung his arms around the hobbit, hugging his stout, furry legs as Samwise stroked his hair soothingly. Thank fucking Tolkien for hobbits. With them by his side, he was sure to beat David Bowie after all.


End file.
